Prompt: i know you said is hard to make prompts for the journal[obvious why] but i was thinking a promt with frank after he heard nash died? what happen and such
A.N.- I hope this is what you were looking for? D:
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I laid on my bed trying to figure out my math homework. I let out a frustrated sigh and raked a hand through my hair as I stared down at the stupid worksheet.
I had a math test tomorrow and there was no way I was ever going to be able to pass it. I groaned, wishing it was the weekend already.
The phone rang twice before stopping, and I could faintly hear my dad’s voice from upstairs. I turned my attention back to my homework, attacking the paper with my eraser.
“NO!”
I jumped in shock, the pencil falling from my hands. I scrambled off of my bed and rushed upstairs.
“Dad!” I cried, running into the kitchen.
He was gripping the edge of the table for support, tears in his eyes. One spilled over onto his cheek.
“No,” he whispered into the phone. “No, that can’t be true, that can’t be true!” He nodded shakily. “I’ll tell him,” he choked out and hung up the phone.
“Dad, what happened?” I demanded, terror pumping through me.
“Francis. Oh, god, Francis.” He moved over to me, pulling me into his arms, hugging me tightly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Oh my god.”
“What happened?” I repeated, looking up at him desperately. “Dad, you’re scaring me. What happened?”
“Nash,” he whispered.
“What about him?” I asked, my heart rate picking up as I pictured his pale face from earlier. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just couldn’t bring myself to love him, and he had been through so much and lost Callahan and Damien. I was afraid to break up with him. I never meant for him to catch me with Carter.
“He’s…He’s dead,” dad said, his voice choked and shaky.
My blood turned to ice. “What?”
“That was Callahan Abraham’s father. Nash sh-sh-shot himself in the head,” dad said, another tear crawling down his cheek. “His father found him dead in his room.”
“Nash…committed suicide?” I asked, my voice weak. I shook my head in disbelief. “That can’t be right.”
“It’s true. It’s true,” dad said, holding me tightly again. “Oh god, it’s true. He’s dead. Nash is dead. Oh my god. He’s only a kid. He’s just a kid.”
Things flashed through my mind rapidly. Asking Nash out, making love to him, him telling me he loved me, his pale face as he caught me with Carter.
Is it my fault? Did he do it because of me?
I shoved my dad off of me and turned away from him, leaning over and emptying my stomach onto the floor. My dad steadied me, rubbing my back, crying.
Crying. Crying the way he had when mom had died. Crying the way he did when someone died too young. When someone who should have had their whole life ahead of them died too young, too tragic.
I fell to the ground, screaming and punching the floor. I could hear my dad yelling my name, but I ignored him.
Something dripped from my face to the ground, and I faintly realized that I was sobbing, that tears were falling hot and fast from my eyes. My fists were sore, but I continued to scream and punch the ground, because Nash couldn’t be dead, this had to be a joke, this was a sick fucking joke, he couldn’t be dead, he couldn’t have killed himself, he wouldn’t kill himself.
My fault. My fault. All my fault.
I curled up on myself, crying and screaming, my chest a tight knot, my throat on fire, my eyes burning. He couldn’t be dead. He wouldn’t kill himself. He was just a kid. He was only 17. He couldn’t kill himself. Not Nash.
Adrian Nash is dead and it’s my fault.
My dad pulled me into his arms and held me as I cried, because he didn’t know, he had no idea what I had done, only Carter and Nash knew and now Nash was dead, and I felt like the world was crumbling beneath my feet.
“Nash,” I sobbed, clutching my dad. Nash was dead and it was my fault and nothing would ever be okay again.
